Before he ever touched the world of Gotham, before the name Wayne meant anything to him, he had been Alex.
Alex had lived on Earth—our Earth.
He wasn't a hero, he wasn't a criminal; he was just a guy with a big heart, too much compassion, and too little patience for people who hurt others.
He didn't have Batman's cold discipline or detached view of justice. Alex was the type who would cry for a stranger, fight for a friend, and protect anyone he called family. But he also wasn't unhinged—he didn't kill for fun or lose control. If you were loyal, he'd shield you with his life. If you betrayed him… well, even he didn't know how far he'd go.
He also had his… tastes.
Alex wasn't shy about what he liked—women with curves, confidence, and presence, the kind who could make him blush but also make him brave.
But fate rarely cares what kind of life someone expects.
Death and life
Alex's life ended abruptly—too abruptly for him to understand.
One moment he was walking home, earphones in, humming to himself.
The next, darkness swallowed him.
But darkness didn't last.
A voice—a metallic, emotionless voice—echoed:
"Reincarnation sequence complete."
"Host: Alex."
"New Identity: Damian Wayne."
"Age: 0."
"System Unlocked: TEMPLATE SYSTEM."
Alex didn't understand it then. He barely understood it when he opened infant eyes for the first time and saw Talia al Ghul looking down at him like a puzzle she already planned to weaponize.
He had been reborn into the DC .
Reborn as the son of Batman.
4 hours ago in the League of Assassins
main base in Nanda Parbat, a hidden city in the Himalayas
The First Meeting — Mother and Son.
The birthing chamber of the League of Assassins was silent once the screams faded.
Talia al Ghul lay exhausted against silk cushions, her breath uneven, her muscles trembling. Sweat clung to her forehead, and her usually razor-sharp eyes were half-lidded from pain and fatigue. A midwife placed a swaddled infant in her arms gently, almost reverently.
Talia felt the weight.
Small. Warm. Alive.
Her son.
For a moment, she simply stared—too tired to maintain the mask of the cold heir to the Demon's Head.
Her voice came out soft, raw:
"My… Damian."
But the child she held was not just Damian.
Inside those newborn eyes was Alex—awake, aware in a way no infant should be, though he hid it behind natural instinct.
He blinked up at her.
His tiny hand clamped around her finger.
A faint spark—recognition, attachment, something deeper—passed between them.
Talia's eyes widened at the strength of his grip.
"Stubborn already," she whispered with a tired smile. "Just like your father… and perhaps worse."
The baby made a small sound—neither cry nor wail, just a soft breath.
Talia's expression softened even more.
She brushed her thumb across his cheek.
"You will be a weapon…"
Her voice hesitated.
Even in exhaustion, she felt something unexpected stirring in her
"but you are my son."